


As Stars Streak Past

by DanOfVulcan



Series: Momentos [13]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Conflict Resolution, M/M, Tuckerreed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanOfVulcan/pseuds/DanOfVulcan
Summary: Trip and Malcolm open up to each other about their experience in the shuttlepod, and their feelings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This part takes place right after 'Shuttlepod One', so spoiler-alert if you haven't watched that episode yet.

The door to the observation lounge stood before Charles Tucker III as imposing as a mountain, and the blonde took a deep breath. _It is time. It is past time, actually. He is in there, and I must do this… I should’ve done it a long time ago._

Once he pushed the button on the panel the door swooshed open to reveal the observation lounge, dark, just a tad bit hotter than the corridor outside, and empty but for a single figure sitting alone in the couch, backs turned to the entrance.

 Trip took a step forward

 

***

 

“Ah, Commander! What can I do for you?” Phlox asked enthusiastically as the blonde entered Sickbay.

“I was expecting so see a patient of yours, Doc. Is Malcolm still here?” Trip hoped his voice hadn't given any clues to his emotions.

Phlox smiles as he tells Trip that Malcolm is no longer bedridden, that the Englishman insisted he was feeling 'quite alright, Doctor. Thank you', and that he was emphatic in making his point. Trip completely relaxing his stance, and looked down laughing a hearty laugh. Once he looked up Phlox was watching him intently.

“I released him yesterday afternoon,” the Denobulan said.

_God, have I been this busy?!_ “I was tied up in engineering, Doc.” Trip says, apologetically, instinctively rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here.”

“Not to worry, Commander” - Phlox says as he places some of his gadgets on a tray -  “The Lieutenant was in pretty good shape, actually. Though I’d never say so to his face lest he try to make a run for it.” That gets a giggle out of Trip, and the Denobulan carries on. “He should be in his quarters, if he followed my suggestions, though I’m inclined to believe he didn’t. He was asleep for most of his stay here, so I’d wager he is in the armory or the mess hall, should you need to talk to him”.

Phlox’s blue gaze pierced through Tucker as if he knows something unsaid.

“Thanks, Doc.”

 

***

 

The door now closed behind him, Trip took the first steps towards Malcolm, whom hadn’t been in his quarters, as Trip expected he wouldn’t, neither had he been in the armory or the mess hall. The sensors were quick to tell the engineer the armory officer was in the observation lounge.

Quickly, though gently, the blonde’s legs silently took him all the way to the couch. Malcolm never moved, nor did his gaze ever left the stars that passed by, not even when the Southerner stood by his side. Trip looked down on the dark-haired Englishman, placing a hand on his shoulder, and took a sit beside him, a mere centimeters away.

They had sat closer together in the shuttlepod, when sharing the bourbon, but it somehow seemed appropriate now, to Trip’s mind, to maintain a certain physical distance.

_Breath, Trip, my boy. Breath,_ all the while Trip’s mind ran amok Malcolm never moved, nothing but the sound of his breathing could be heard in the room.

“Trip.”

The Englishman’s voice broke the silence gently, like a breeze that enters a window on a hot summer’s day, and yet it was resolute.

_There’s so much I wanna tell ya, Mal…_

“Trip” - and the blonde was startled by the sudden warmth of Malcolm’s hand over his own - “do sit closer. Please.”

The blonde’s body reacted out of its own accord since the brain was still processing things, and before he could realize they were side by side. Hip against hip, thigh against thigh, their hands now clasped together, and slowly they reclined against the sofa.

As the minutes ticked away silence, and the presence of one another, kept them company. Trip felt as if he had to say something.

_What the hell does this hand-holding mean?_

Malcolm kept silent, stargazing, his beautiful, angular features illuminated by the dim glow of the room’s lighting.

“Mal?”

“Hm?”

 It was interesting to Trip that Malcolm never objected to the nickname.

“I’m sorry”

"Trip,” and Malcolm’s lips slightly arched upwards when saying the engineer’s name, “it’s fine.” He gave the blonde’s hand a squeeze.

Trip, in turn, shook his head. “No. No, Mal. I was a fool,” he shook his head once more at that.

 

***

 

“You know, your treacly optimism is beginning to get just a little bit tiresome,” Malcolm Reed shot from across the shuttlepod’s cabin, tone oozing mockery.

“Unlike your heartfelt letters of farewell to half the girls in San Francisco?” Charles Tucker III shot back, without skipping a beat.

Malcolm turned his head so as to look directly to the blonde sitting on the deck plate from across the cabin.  “At least I'm capable of accepting our fate. We're going to be dead in about thirty three hours. Whether our beards continue to grow or not is of no concern to me. We will be dead!” - the Englishman said, his voice barely under control, frantically shaking his head as he spoke -  “And unless some ship happens to cross our path, our bearded bodies will be discovered in about three or four years. Is that optimistic enough for you?” Sarcasm painted hais last words.

It took Trip all his strength not to lose it, and yet his voice was just short of shouting at the other man.  “What's your problem with having a little hope?”

Reed looked at the engineer, grey eyes sadder than ever. “What's your problem with facing the truth?”

"You're a regular grim reaper, Malcolm. Anyone ever tell you that?. The blonde exhale loudly, placed his gadgets in a case, and got up. “Well, if this little trip is a death sentence, then it would seem to me we're entitled to a last meal. What'll it be? I'm afraid our selection is somewhat limited.”

 

***

 

“Trip, really…” All the while he never let go of Trip’s hand. “Old water under the bridge”

“Mal” - Trip shook his head emphatically - “I was a fool, I was cranky, and God knows that doesn’t excuse my behaviour, but I was rude to you. I hurt you”. The blonde stared fixedly at the profile of the other man.

“You know,”  Malcolm began, and turned his head so as to look directly into Trip’s eyes, “I was being a regular grim reaper”. The words cut deep into Trip’s core, and he relived the moment all over again... The hurt in Malcolm’s eyes, and how the blonde lost control over his emotions. “You were right,” the Englishman said, his tone indicating he was nearing his point, but also how taxing this whole conversations was on him.

After a few seconds looking into the blue eyes, Malcolm went back to stargazing, his hand never leaving Trip’s, and the blonde wondered. What did all that hand-holding meant?

“I wanted to die, you know?” the dark haired man finally said, almost inaudibly. “It would be that much easier, giving up.” His tone was now sour. “I have given up on so much in my life, Trip, that at some point it just becomes second nature. It was my first thought, to certain things, to just give up.” Trip was shocked at the amount of hurt and pain in the Englishman’s voice.

“Mal… I…” Trip offered, though at a loss for words, all the while holding Malcolm’s hand.

“I really wanted to. But then you talked about going into that airlock…” a sad smile tinged the Englishman’s features.

 

***

 

“What are you doing?” Reed asked from where the was seated on the floor, shock overcoming him as he saw Charles Tucker III trying to climb into the airlock.

“We don't know whether or not they saw our little display of pyrotechnics,” - the blonde engineer began, climbing up the ladder - “but either way this'll double your chances.”

Trip finished speaking as he reached the top of the ladder.

“You're crazy.” Reed shouted, despair in his voice. “Now get down from there!” the Englishman said, getting up.

“Sit down, Lieutenant.” Tucker shot back.

“If anyone should go up in there, it should be me. You're the Chief Engineer.” Malcolm shouted since he could no longer keep his emotions in check.

Trip looked down to where his fellow officer was standing. “I'm also in charge of deciding who's going into this airlock. Do I make myself clear?” The question wasn’t supposed to be answered, so he continued onto the airlock, just as Reed reached for a phase pistol.

“Commander?” Reed called out, pointing the gun towards his superior officer.

Trip looked down, not entirely convinced Malcolm had pistol pointed at him “What are you going to do? Kill me?”

Malcolm checked the setting. “It's set to stun,” he said, hands shaking from both the cold and fear. “I don't want to use it, but I will.” His voice was that of a desperate man.

“Put it down!” Trip ordered, his voice oozing anger.

“Go to hell!” Malcolm shouted.

The bluff, however, worked as Trip Tucker climbed down the ladder.

“Stop trying to be a hero,” Trip said, his face a mere centimeters away from that Malcolm’s. “It doesn't suit you,” he shot, turning away from the shorter man.

“What would you know about being a hero?” Malcolm more shouted than spoke. “It takes nothing but a coward to crawl up inside a hole to die.”

 

***

 

“It woke me up. Seeing you trying to get into that airlock... It froze me, Trip,” the shorter man said, gripping the blonde’s hand firmly. “I realized I couldn’t give you up,” and looked sideways, to stare into blue eyes.

Trip came closer, one hand holding one of Malcolm’s, the other resting on the Englishman’s right knee, and when the Southerner gazed into the grey eyes what he saw wasn’t hurt, wasn’t pain. There was a peace and acceptance, the kind one seldom comes across. It wasn’t the grey of a cloudy morning, but rather the grey of a painting, highlighting the features, or that of a stone, firm and reliant. This was more opening up from Malcolm’s side than Trip had seen since leaving Earth.

Grey eyes blinked a few times, and red, thin lips trembled. “I love you, Trip.”

It felt so natural, so sweet, to hear such words uttered in that British accent, in Malcolm’s clear cut articulation, and all Trip could do was smile.

“I love you too, Mal.”


End file.
